


Bitter Turns to Sugar

by great_whatsit



Category: The Big Country (1958)
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_whatsit/pseuds/great_whatsit
Summary: AND THEY WERE SOULMATES.
Relationships: Steve Leech/James McKay
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Bitter Turns to Sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Damkianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damkianna/gifts).



_Soul marks are as different as fingerprints, in their own ways. Some are gloriously elaborate: letters from an illuminated manuscript, covering the bearer’s entire forearm with arcs and loops and tiny, tiny figures embedded in the webs of lines. Others are in childlike script: light and unpracticed and barely there; tentative letters, only just clinging to the skin. Still others are very much of their eras: letters in typescript suddenly appeared when typewriters became available, and marks that looked for all the world as if they were printed by a telegraph ticker began to be reported in the early 1800s. The only thing they all have in common is that they consist of two letters: the initials of the bearer’s soulmate._

* * *

Steve’s wrist says “JM” in dark, proud, almost hand-written letters that look as if they were penned by someone newly confident of their alphabet. Like many, he’d once felt beholden to the mark — he'd thrilled at each meeting with a Jennifer, or a Judy, or a Jane — but, over time, he has come to see it as nothing more than a trinket, or a charm; without value but a nice conversation piece, should one prove necessary. He’s loved women with a lot of different initials (even one whose were JM — she’d hated him), and the soul mark no longer has any hold on his life. At this point, he barely sees it anymore — it’s just skin that looks a little different; skin marked by dirt that he can’t wipe off.

✪

Jim has always appreciated the romance of soul marks — the idea that, for each person, there is one perfect match. For him, the virtual impossibility of finding one’s soulmate makes it that much more perfect. It keeps the mates firmly in the realm of fantasy, safe in a bright, secret place where anything can happen.

At sea, men passed long hours in the doldrums sharing their marks and spinning detailed, sometimes bawdy yarns about the women bearing theirs. Some told tales of Polynesian goddesses, others of shy, quiet girls working at factory looms who were anything but shy when the lamps went out. Still others spoke wistfully of girls back home who would have been perfect, if only their marks were right. And the sailors would examine Jim’s magnificent mark, telling their own stories of his "SL." Any woman represented by letters so big and eye-catching that they filled his entire forearm had to be rich, they decided. And for the calligraphy to be as detailed as it was — full of delicate, perfect loops enhancing the L, and sharp, impossibly straight lines adorning the elaborate S — why, she was probably a dancer. Or a contortionist! They shouted excitedly at Jim and cajoled him to share his own fantasies, to tell them what he imagined SL was like.

Jim smiled and laughed at the stories, but he never took part. He’s always preferred that SL stay in the shadows, a theoretical partner to whom he never has to adjust, and who never has to understand him.

* * *

_The lack of specificity in the marking system has rankled for generations, though some, it must be said, appreciate the whimsy of a soul mark that makes finding one’s intended a fool’s crusade. Most wed people whose initials are entirely different from the ones they wear, and many of these marriages are long, loving, and successful. More rare are the marriages between individuals with matching marks; rarer still are those of people whose marks not only match, but whose souls do as well. Scientists long ago realized that simply bearing initials that match those of one’s intended doesn't mean that the intended is, in fact, the person referenced by the mark. Indeed, matching both marks and souls is astonishingly rare, to such a degree that the cases are recorded and indexed for reference, study, and, of course, to provide evidentiary proof that soulmatching does, on occasion, occur._

* * *

Steve is happy now, with the Major. He has work, he’s respected, and his life has a predictable rhythm. He can’t complain.

There’s Patricia, too (PT), who he sometimes thinks he desperately wants. At other times, though, he wonders if he’s just bored — less content than he thinks — and looking for somewhere to focus his energy. The vague frustration gets worse when she announces she’s engaged. It makes him angry, as if she’d somehow betrayed him by having a life of her own. So he goes into town, every couple of weeks, and visits Miss Cathy’s (CA). There he pays for a woman (AA, FL, CB), and doesn’t think for a while. It’s nice. It scares him a little, how much he appreciates the peace — how he appreciates the peace almost more than he does the sex.

✪

Jim and Patricia didn't think for a second that they were soulmates, and it never bothered either of them. She’s young and sharp and surprisingly open about her attraction to him, and Jim is sick of the sea and sick of wandering, so he asks her to marry him almost immediately. She says yes, delighted, and tells him vivid stories about the big country in which she lives — the endless prairies and skies; the living seas of cattle, as far as the eye can see. And the men with guns, who would be dangerous but for the Major, who fears no one and protects them all.

Jim needs a place to set down roots; he figures Texas is as good as anywhere else.

* * *

_There are, on occasion, same sex soul bonds. They remain rare because of social conventions and simple prejudice but, in previous generations, on other continents, they were both accepted and celebrated. The ancient Greeks, for example, were as delighted by matching marks on men as they were when men and women found they were bonded. In the modern era in the English-speaking world, though, such acceptance is largely unheard-of. Same sex bonds are tolerated, of course — no one dares question the marks — but they are neither applauded nor much discussed._

* * *

As far as Steve is concerned, the only noteworthy things about Jim McKay are that he’s going to marry Patricia, and that he doesn’t deserve her. He’s a dandy and a swell and a weak one at that, and Steve can hardly stand that he gets the woman Steve can’t have (isn’t always sure he wants). He hardly even notices McKay’s square jaw, or his thick, dark hair, or the ferocious intelligence in his eyes that hints at depths well hidden by his calm, quiet surface. Steve turns away, telling himself what he's feeling is disgust.

✪

Jim has never lied to himself about his attraction to men, at least not since he became an adult and decided not to care what other people thought of him. He’s never talked to Patricia about it but it’s a comfortable part of him, and he’s had his share of assignations, both on land and at sea. Some were more furtive than others, but it’s not something about which he’s ever felt much shame. And Jim notices Steve right away — his helpless hostility, the roughness of his hands when they touch his own, the thickness of his body, the way his shirt is never properly buttoned. Jim notices it all.

* * *

_Some have claimed to have felt a tickle, or an itch, or a pinch in their marks when first in the presence of their soulmate — as if they’d been bitten by an insect, they say — but science has yet to find convincing proof of this phenomenon. The only proven indication the marks offer of the proximity of a mate is that they slowly change color. Marks will shift from black, to purple, to blue, sometimes over the course of months. Or from black, to grey, to almost white, at such a slow pace that, from day to day, it's nearly unnoticeable. Sometimes, people notice only when it’s too late, and they spend their lives wondering what might have been, as they watch their marks shift back to black and never change again. Others sit and stare at their marks, wondering if, perhaps — yes, it’s a little more purple, don’t you think? — a change is happening that confirms a proximate match is, in fact, the one._

* * *

Steve’s crew is branding the spring calves when he notices: his mark isn’t black anymore. The shock is so great he almost falls off the rail of the chute, right into the path of a dozen frantic calves. He catches himself just in time, barely hearing the hoots of the men as they mock him for his lack of concentration. He hardly notices them, because he's sure the mark is shifting, even as he watches. It’s already gone from the color of a new bruise to the way the water in The Big Muddy looks when the cows haven’t watered for a while: a bright, almost clear blue. Steve yanks the bandana from his neck and wraps it tightly around his mark, tying it off it when he’s done.

✪

Jim’s mark is changing. It’s Patricia who notices it first, on a lazy morning in bed. She’s got her back to Jim and he’s holding her against his chest; she’s playing idly with his left hand as she talks through her plans for the day. Suddenly, she gasps. “Jim. Jim! It’s blue!”

Jim cranes his neck to look over her shoulder and, so it is. Then he corrects himself internally: the mark over which she is running a wondering hand isn’t fully blue, but rather it seems to be in transition. The bottom of the L is a sort of royal blue, but the top of the S is still a deep purple, closer to the black it has left behind than the blue it will become — assuming Jim’s soulmate is still nearby. Jim reaches around Patricia and joins her in touching the mark, seeking out a textural change he knows he won’t find.

“Well,” he says. “Well.” There’s wonder in his voice, or at least as close to wonder as Jim's voice ever gets.

* * *

_Cross cultural soul marks have long been the source of both fascination and frustration. While it’s possible to have a soulmate of another nationality and not know it, the meaning of marks that appear in unfamiliar alphabets — when, for example, an American is marked with kanji, or an Italian with Cyrillic letters — is obvious and undeniable. On one hand, bearers of these marks often experience deep disappointment, particularly as children, because the great majority must accept the impossibility of the kind of travel that would likely be necessary to find their match. On the other, however, the room for fantasy for those with unreadable marks is vast — they dream of the mysterious lover from a distant land, someone with unfamiliar skills and unimagined depths. The most popular romance novels, in fact, are rooted in this very fantasy. In the books, of course, the soulmates find one another, but even in the fiction, the years of dreaming are what make the discovery so rewarding when it finally comes._

* * *

Steve knows right away who JM is, and he tells himself he’s sick with shame and fear. That’s why his heart is pounding, why he’s dreaming of Jim, why there’s a strange, familiar heat at the base of his spine that won’t go away. He has the terrifying realization that he’s felt like this before, twice. Once the trail to Kansas City with the hired hand from New Orleans (LT), and another time back when he was a kid, and Tommy Bane (TB) and he had gone swimming together. He’d locked those feelings up so deep that he’d been sure they were gone, but JM is threatening to unleash them again, to destroy his hard won control once and for all. He avoids even looking at the main house and keeps to himself as much as he can, his mark always meticulously covered. At night, he closes himself in his cabin and crawls miserably into bed, praying for a dreamless sleep.

✪

Jim knows right away who SL is, and he laughs out loud at the wonder of life. His betrothed is shocked on a number of levels, but she bows out gracefully, unwilling to stand in the way of fate. Out of respect for Patricia, he intends to wait a full week before approaching him. As he waits, he watches the mark shift further, until it’s a deep blue at the top and, at the bottom of the L, a blue so bright and pure that it somehow reminds him just how far he’s moved from the deep, variable green of the sea. As he waits, the anticipation settles low in his belly, intensifying every time he catches a glimpse of the distant Steve, even as he keeps an uncharacteristic distance from the house.

After four days, Jim can’t wait any longer.

* * *

_The second most popular theme in romance novels is the matching of mates who think they hate one another, a theme which has only recently become know as “enemies to lovers.” The stories typically focus on the time between the discovery of the match and the eventual, inevitable capitulation, letting the tension build over months and months as the people around the couple watch knowingly, waiting. Often, the stories feature a wise older couple, observing the central pair with sympathy and a wistful nostalgia for their own identical struggle against fate. In reality, these situations are generally far less drawn out and overwrought than the way they’re depicted on the page: typically, when the "enemies" realize they're matched, the power of their bond seduces almost immediately._

* * *

The knock on his door surprises but doesn’t awaken Steve; he hasn’t slept soundly since he realized what his mark was telling him. He’s up and opening the door before he has time to think and, by the time he does, he’s standing there in front of his soulmate in nothing but his underclothes. His soulmate who is wearing rough trousers, suspenders, and a button up shirt with the top button undone and his sleeves rolled up. Steve realizes he’s never seen Jim’s forearms until this moment. Like he can read Steve’s mind (Steve has a moment of panic at that: can soulmates read minds? Does Jim know everything he’s been keeping inside?), Jim turns his left wrist up and holds his arm out for inspection. His eyes are warm and pleased, and there’s something in his face that makes Steve feel unmoored.

Without a word, Steve pulls Jim into the room with a hand tight around his wrist, closing the door and leading him to a lamp so he can see the mark — his brand on Jim’s body — more clearly. The beauty of the mark makes him gasp. He looks up at Jim, then back down at the mark, then up again. “May I. May I touch it?” he asks, suddenly shy.

Jim lifts his eyebrows and offers a grin that gestures toward innocence but feels anything but to Steve. His voice sounds even deeper than usual. “It’s yours too, Steve. Touch all you want.” Steve shivers at his words, at the reality they lay bare. Jim’s grin gets bigger and decidedly less innocent.

✪

When Steve finally opens his eyes, the sun is already high enough in the sky to be shining in through the slats in his shutters. He blinks in the light and stretches before he’s startled by a sound across the room. Jim is sitting at the table with a tin cup full of coffee, watching him, wearing nothing but his pants and a very self-satisfied expression. Steve’s sore in new places and bruised in some familiar ones, and he feels looser and more content than he can ever remember being. He tells himself he’s done an admirable job of hiding at least some of that from Jim, but even he doesn’t really believe it. Mind reader or not, he feels like Jim can see everything when he looks at him. Has always been able to see everything.

From across the room, Jim’s mark appears to glow in the morning light: the whole thing is an astonishing, ferocious blue. Steve’s breath catches and he runs his thumb across his own, terribly modest brand. It matches Jim’s perfectly in color, even as it’s as different in shape and style as Steve feels from Jim. It’s the blue that ties them together. It anchors them here, in this place, beneath its big, glorious sky.

* * *

_Scientists have found no evidence that soulmates can read minds._

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Style Council's "My Ever Changing Moods."
> 
> I had neither written nor thought about anything like this in my life, then I read **Damkianna** 's Yuletide letter and it said this: "WHAT IF STEVE HAD JIM'S NAME ON HIS WRIST. OR EVERYONE WERE WEREWOLVES. *waves hands* Anything!" After that, my mind was no longer my own.
> 
> (Thank you, Damkianna, and happy Yuletide.)


End file.
